


the little bit of Paris in our view

by sapphyshipseverything



Series: body & soul [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Captain America: The First Avenger, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy?, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Self Esteem Issues, Steve will always choose Bucky, based off the poem 'In Paris With You' by James Fenton, kinda au? kinda not? depends on how you read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 21:02:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18699085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphyshipseverything/pseuds/sapphyshipseverything
Summary: Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris,/The little bit of Paris in our view./There's that crack across the ceiling/And the hotel walls are peeling/And I'm in Paris with you.- James Fenton, I'm In Paris With You“C’mon Steve, you don’t need to spare my feelings. I get it,” Bucky says, the slightest of tremors creeping into his voice, from exasperation or exhaustion, Steve doesn’t know.  “You didn’t choose me, not after you became all…” Bucky trails off, breath hitching, like he’s trying to get a hold of himself. “I know I wasn’t enough, not now you really have a choice of whoever you actually want-”“The fuck are you talking about? You really think I would ever choose anyone but you?"





	the little bit of Paris in our view

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea if this is actually any good and it hasn't been beta'd but I wanna share this before I chicken out of posting it. Enjoy <3

Paris wasn’t all Steve hoped it would be.

Granted, there was a war on, so he should really cut the French a little slack: they might have bigger problems to attend to than their tourist attractions. It’s partly his fault too, for building his hopes up so much. Maybe, just maybe Steve had romanticised a little. Who wouldn’t, though? It’s _Paris,_ the home to art and love and all things cultured that some poor kid in Brooklyn couldn’t help but fantasise about.

When Steve was little- as in a child, not just pre-miracle of science serum- he’d dreamed of going to Paris one day, seeing the sights. He’d hoped to stand inside the Louvre, a place filled with great artists, and feel at home, nestled amongst the paintings. He’d imagined standing there, and finally understanding his place in the world, why he’d been born as Steve Rogers and not anybody else. Only now the Louvre doesn’t have any fucking paintings left and there are swastikas on every street, and Steve isn’t Steve anymore, he’s Captain America, national hero, and _there’s a war on._

The old three-story townhouse they’re holed up in- ‘they’ being Steve, Bucky and the rest of the Howling Commandos- is, in the nicest way possible, a dump. The streets surrounding it were almost deserted, it being so close to the curfew when citizens had to be off the streets, and everything had a dishevelled look to it, like the buildings themselves were one step away from collapsing from exhaustion themselves. Peggy had tipped them off to it precisely because it was a dump, because it was dirt cheap to rent a couple of rooms and because nobody-least of all the Germans- would be paying attention to it.

Its tactical advantages didn’t stop the rats living in the walls from keeping Steve up all night. Every time he found himself at the edge of sleep, the rats would rearrange themselves, feet scuffling against the cracked plaster, and rest would retreat just out of Steve’s reach yet again. For all his health problems growing up, insomnia wasn’t one of them. Chronic pain, ill health and getting in fist fights at every opportunity meant his energy levels were absolute shit, and almost always Steve had slept like a log. Now, though, the serum gives him enough energy to keep going past any regular person’s limits, and it can be hard keeping to the rhythm of a normal human life when Steve knows he’s barely human anymore.

It doesn’t help that Bucky is lying barely a foot away from him, flesh and blood, his breathing quiet and steady, controlled in a way that Steve knows means he’s asleep. When the rooms had been divided up, the two of them just so happened to be sharing, since the smallest one closest to the kitchen was the best spot to allow Steve’s super hearing to alert them early to any threats. The thrill that goes through Steve’s new, improved body at that sound, rhythmic against the intermittent scratches of the rats is indescribable. The ebb and flow beat steadily against the rock-face of fear inside Steve that had been there since he heard about the 107th, wearing it away until the jagged edges of it are smooth as sea glass.

He and Bucky haven’t talked about _them_ since…well, ever. Certainly not since Steve had stormed into Azzano to find Bucky strapped to that table. At first, there’d been more pressing matters to attend to, and then there hadn’t been a moment with Bucky alone, or at least not one that Steve was willing to ruin by bringing everything up. For all that people like to say he’s the brave one, Bucky’s the one that had the guts to face the vulnerability of admitting how he feels.

Days and then weeks and then months had gone by, and eventually Steve, in his cowardice, had to conclude that whatever there had been between them wasn’t there anymore. Or rather, there was no between because the guy Bucky had loved didn’t exist anymore, not since he’d stepped out and taken his first breath as…whatever the hell he was now.

At first, he hoped maybe Bucky would be pleased, now that his crooked spine was finally straight and his lungs actually worked; now that he was someone worth looking at. He wasn’t just some burden Bucky had to shoulder alone. But beyond the half delirious conversation they had about his new body as they stumbled around the corridors of the HYDRA base, Bucky had pointedly not reacted to the serum at all.  To all intents and purposes, he played the role of devoted childhood friend perfectly, and certainly, Steve couldn’t ask for a better second in command in the field. But it was just that, a role. Bucky was carefully shuttered off in a way Steve had only seen before from an inside vantage point. He held himself the way he knew Bucky did when he didn’t like someone else as much as they liked him, but didn’t want them to know, ever the gentleman.  To a casual observer, Bucky seemed perfectly polite and friendly, but it was so jarringly different from the way he could be when it was just them. It was obvious he wasn’t a fan of what Steve had done to himself.

Maybe he’d never really liked Steve at all. He was still the same on the inside, so maybe that was where he was lacking. His own hatred of his body in all its forms struggled to twist to understand that logic, that the body he hated before could be more appealing than the body he hated now, but then maybe the flaw was in Bucky wanting him in the first place. Steve could understand that, and he wasn’t keen to face the certainty that Bucky didn’t want him anymore.

So, nothing happened, and things continued as normal between them, Steve pinning uselessly for something he’d never have. Except of course nothing was fucking normal, because they were running back and forth across Europe, and there was a war on, and nobody, not even Captain America, actually got two minutes to themselves to think about anything beyond survival. And then they’d arrived in Paris, and made their way to the safe house, and to their room, and then Bucky had laid down and put his back to Steve, blocking any possibility of talking.

And then, and then, and then. And then he has nothing but time to think.

The rats start up again, the noise grating in the relative silence. Steve shifts, attempting to find some position in which he might be able to nod off, wincing at the sound of the bed springs groaning. He stops half-way through the attempt at rolling over, flat on his back staring at the tired old ceiling.

He glances across to where Bucky is still laying on his side, curled up as far away from him as possible, which isn’t far given there’s only one bed in the room- a double, crammed into the small space leaving just enough room to get in and out. There’d been an awkward pause when they’d seen the room, but after weeks in the field, not even Bucky- for all his avoidance of being within three feet of Steve- was going to pass up the chance to sleep in a goddamn bed.   

Steve finds himself longing for his old body, such a visceral urge of want rushing through him that he physically tenses against it. He feels clumsy in a way he never used to, a bull in a china shop, smashing everything within his reach with every movement he makes. It seems like most of his mental energy these days is spent into making himself less…well, just less. Even without trying he takes up so much room, and Steve doesn’t know how to pull back any more, to stop crowding Bucky with his overbearing presence.

Bucky must feel his gaze on his back, or maybe he wasn’t as deeply asleep as Steve thought, because he inhales sharply, instantly awake and turning his head to catch him looking even as Steve scrambles to appear as if he wasn’t just creepily staring at him in the dark.

“There a problem?” 

Even woken from sleep, Bucky is alert, voice low and controlled, ready to fight at the drop of a hat if he needs to. Steve knows that type of vigilance is necessary these days, but it takes its toll on them all.

“No, nothing’s wrong, it’s okay. Go back to sleep, Buck.”

Some part of the half-truth must resonate in Bucky’s brain, because he turns to face Steve fully, his gaze flicking back and forth, assessing. Steve can tell even in the semi darkness that Bucky’s not buying it. He’s always been able to tell when he’s lying.

“What is it?”

God, it would be so easy to just say it, let the poison out in the dark between them. I want you to love me again. Steve wants that night before Bucky shipped out here to this waking nightmare back more than he’s wanted anything in a long time. How stupid he’d been to let it go, that bubble of happiness amongst the horror, the only time his feelings for Bucky had made him feel free and not trapped by the consequences.

How stupid he’d been to think nothing would change between them.

“I thought…I thought it would be different.”

At Bucky’s confused look, it’s obvious what ‘it’ is isn’t clear.

“Being- here, I guess,” Steve clarifies.

“In Paris?”

Steve nods.

“It always has been your dream, to come here, ain’t it?” Bucky says, the ghost of a smile just visible in the darkness playing at the corners of his lips. Steve lets his eyes linger a beat too long before looking up into Bucky’s eyes again.

“You remember that?”

“How could I forget?” Bucky scoffs. “I swear there was a period of about six months back in ’32 when I thought you really were gonna run off and find your home among the bohemian artists like you said you would.”

“’32, God it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long. You and your folks gave me my first sketchbook for Christmas that year, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, well…couldn’t have you showing up here with your butcher’s paper scratchings. You gotta have materials that match the quality of the work.”

There’s quiet for a moment, Steve not quite sure what to say in response to the compliment. He’d forgotten how fiercely supportive Bucky got over his art, how it still made butterflies rise in his belly to think about someone taking notice of him. Bucky breaks the silence after a moment, his tone pensive.

“Guess it’s true the krauts have ruined the ambiance more than little bit.”

Even though that’s exactly what Steve had been thinking about before, it seemed wrong to bring such pessimism into the first non-mission critical conversation they’ve had in months. “Didn’t imagine I’d be responsible for carting a bunch of idiots around the place, neither,” he says lightly.

But that just causes something to shutter off completely in Bucky, something Steve wasn’t aware of until now had been slowly unfurling.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure after the war you can scrounge up some better company. _Agent_ Carter might be a bit uptight for the bohemians, though.”

Steve frowns, confused and offended on Peggy’s behalf for Bucky’s harshness. “Peggy? Why would I come back with her?”

Bucky sits up at the edge of the bed, feet making a soft thunk on the floor as puts his back to Steve again, posture stiff. “I’m not an idiot, I’ve seen the way you look at her. How you’re always sneaking off to ‘make conversation’ where the rest of us won’t catch an eyeful. Don’t be obtuse, Steve, it doesn’t suit you.”

At that Steve sits up too, though slower than Bucky had, careful to keep quiet despite the dawning understanding screaming in his mind to not let Bucky get away as he slides his feet into his boots. Something is wrong.

“I’m not, I just don’t see what she has to do with anything. You mean when I’m going to talk to her about the intelligence reports she’s picked up? The reports that its her job to tell me about? So we can do ours?”

“C’mon Steve, you don’t need to spare my feelings. I get it,” Bucky says, the slightest of tremors creeping into his voice, from exasperation or exhaustion, Steve doesn’t know.  “You didn’t choose me, not after you became all…” Bucky trails off, breath hitching, like he’s trying to get a hold of himself. “I know I wasn’t enough, not now you really have a choice of whoever you actually want-”

God, it’s so close to what Steve himself had been thinking that for a minute it stuns him. Was Bucky really that unsure of himself to think that Steve couldn’t want _him_?

“The fuck are you talking about?”

That stops Bucky’s movements dead. Steve reaches out, placing his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.  

“You really think I would ever choose anyone but you?” Steve pushes everything he’s feeling into his voice. He doesn’t even know what that is but he doesn’t care, the only thing on his mind his desperation to make Bucky understand.

Suddenly Bucky is all over him, their foreheads bumping and teeth clashing as he seeks to put their mouths together. One of his hands is fisted in Steve’s hair, tugging it roughly, and he’s not even sure how their limbs are entangled exactly, but none of that matters.

The kiss isn’t tender, or it is, but not in a way that anyone else would classify as such. Bucky is _mean_ in the way he kisses, the pressure of lips against lips clumsy and uncoordinated, his stubble scratching roughly against Steve’s skin as he pushes into his space. But Steve’s just as mean back, teeth biting down on Bucky’s lower lip, pulling before moving to mouth at the hinge of his jaw, watching for the way Bucky can’t control his shivers whenever he finds a particularly sensitive spot.

Bucky pulls back, dragging Steve until he’s positioned at the edge of the bed like he had been earlier, before dropping to his knees between Steve’s legs and pulling at his pants to get them open.

“Buck- What are you doing- Buck!” Steve hisses, trying to resist pushing his hips up into Bucky’s roaming hands.

“Bed’s too creaky, gotta keep quiet. Won’t be as loud if we do it like this.”

He goes back to Steve’s flies, the heel of his hand rubbing up against his dick as he struggles to undo the buttons in the almost dark. Steve catches his wrist, gently stopping him. “You don’t have to do this out of…obligation, Buck, I’m not expecting anything.”

Bucky smiles, raising his eyebrows. “You think all that was out of obligation? I know, Stevie, that’s why I want to.”

Steve lets go, and Bucky pushes the thin cotton of his underwear out of the way, taking him out fully. His dick stiffens quickly under Bucky’s clearly expert touch, and Steve thinks he could happily come from just that, just Bucky’s fingers on his cock slowly tightening and loosening as he moves his hand up and down.

But then Bucky leans forward, taking the head into the wet heat of his mouth, tongue tracing the point where his foreskin would be, if he still had it. It’s like nothing Steve has ever experienced before, the combination of heat and friction and the knowledge that its Bucky doing this for him making the pressure build in his stomach, flashes of heat travelling up his spine.

Bucky lowers his head, drawing more of Steve’s cock into his mouth, steading the motion with a hand resting at the base. He looks up, maintaining eye contact as he moves lower still and it’s all Steve can do to bite on the knuckles of his left hand to try and keep from moaning at the sight.

They get into a rhythm, Steve thrusting his hips up the smallest fraction each time Bucky moves down, not enough to choke him but enough to make pleasure zing through Steve. The feeling grows, expanding out until Steve feels like it’s the only thing he can feel, transfixed by the glide of his cock through the ring of Bucky’s lips. Bucky shifts his hands to lightly cup Steve’s balls, rolling them in time with everything else, somehow coordinated even now, and then he presses firmly behind them, into a spot that makes Steve’s brain white out with sensation.

He barely has time to warn Bucky that he’s coming, but Bucky to his credit takes it in his stride, pulling back slightly but keeping Steve in his mouth as he comes, swallowing it down before letting his cock out of his mouth, licking his lips as he does so. Steve pulls him to kneel upright, rather than sat back on his heels like he had been, leaning in for a kiss. He can taste himself on Bucky’s tongue, a little bitter and faintly salty, but he can’t bring himself to care one bit.

Not one to be selfish, Steve fumbles at Bucky’s pants, feeling the bulge there that’s just for him. He doesn’t have Bucky’s skill or experience, so he doesn’t try for anything fancy, but its not long before Bucky’s spilling across his fingers, letting out a whimper against the crook of Steve’s neck as he comes.

They pant in the silence, attempting to get back under control, awareness creeping back in that they could have easily given themselves away, but there’s no rushing footsteps coming their way, not human ones anyways. Steve holds his hand awkwardly for a moment, not wanting to make a mess, before deciding _fuck it_ and licking the mess away with his tongue. The look Bucky gives him is so full of lust it almost gets Steve going again, but it’s late, and their luck really might not hold out long enough for another round, so he pushes the feeling away.

They get settled back into bed, though this time Bucky drapes himself across Steve’s chest, one knee folded over Steve’s legs, his head tucked in under Steve’s chin. It’s odd, being the larger one, but Steve finds he doesn’t mind.

It’s harder to pay attention to the rats when he can feel Bucky’s breath on the base of his throat, and it takes only moments before Steve finally relaxes enough to drift off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment and I'll love you like rlb?


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